Back at Mount Washington, Zeus was in full meltdown mode. Not the cool, composed, king-of-the-gods kind either. This was the sweaty, pacing-around-his-throne-room-while-muttering-to-himself kind of crisis. And the reason? His daughter, Artemis, had a kid. Not just any kid—no, that would've been too easy. Loki's kid.
Zeus rubbed his temples, feeling the mother of all headaches brewing. He'd always been proud of his record as the Olympian king of fathering demigods. Sure, there'd been that awkward "no more kids" pact with Poseidon and Hades after that pesky prophecy, but hey, old habits die hard. The allure of beautiful mortals? Well, let's just say Beryl Grace wasn't the only one who'd found him irresistible. Twice. Once as Zeus, once as Jupiter. He wasn't exactly sorry about the results. Thalia and Jason were great. But now… this?
This was on a whole other level.
Artemis—his little hunter who'd sworn off men for eternity—had a child. A male child. Zeus had been weirdly excited when he first found out. Sure, she'd made that whole vow, but if anyone could appreciate a little rule-bending in the name of expanding the family line, it was Zeus. He'd even rallied the Olympian Council to bless the boy, ready to give Artemis her well-earned place on the Demigod Parents' Leaderboard.
Then he learned the father was Loki. Loki. Odin's brat. The trickster of Asgard who had once turned into a horse. A horse. And now that horse-boy was the father of Zeus's grandkid? Talk about a sucker punch to the ego.
Zeus stopped pacing long enough to glare at the clouds outside his window. "Loki," he growled. "Of all the gods in all the realms, it had to be him?"
The rivalry between Zeus and Odin was legendary, mostly because they were both stubborn, bearded gods with too much power and way too much pride. And now their families were tangled up in the most unexpected (and frankly uncomfortable) way possible.
The worst part? Zeus had already blessed the boy. Oops. There was no taking that back, not without a full-on godly scandal, and Zeus wasn't in the mood for dealing with Hera's side-eye for the next century. As much as this stung, one thing was clear: Harry, the son of Artemis and Loki, was bound to become something—someone—powerful. And Zeus wasn't about to let Odin steal the spotlight.
Zeus clenched his fists, lightning crackling at his fingertips. "Fine. Let the boy grow up. But if Loki tries any of his trickster nonsense, I'll show him how a real storm god handles things."
The thunder outside agreed with him—loudly. Zeus smirked, mentally preparing for the inevitable godly drama. Asgard and Olympus had been way too peaceful for way too long. It was time to stir the pot.
And just like that, the countdown to the next divine family feud officially began.
—
Loki leaned casually against the enchanted carriage, watching the horizon like it held all the answers. Of course, knowing him, it probably did. While he waited, the kids were doing their usual—Clarisse, the five-year-old daughter of Ares, was trying to wrestle a stick from Jasper, the ever-charming son of Apollo. At ten years old, Jasper had the kind of grin that could probably convince you the sky was green. But healing? Yeah, not his strong suit yet. Last week, he'd healed a beetle's wings backward. Good intentions, horrible execution.
Charles, on the other hand, stood off to the side, fidgeting with a gear. The seven-and-a-half-year-old son of Hephaestus was already built like a tiny blacksmith, and he could probably build a fortress out of soda cans if you gave him an hour. But right now? He was tinkering, because that's what he did. Always tinkering.
"Are we there yet?" Clarisse groaned, giving the distant Beauxbatons castle the stink eye. The little daughter of Ares had zero patience. Which, yeah, big surprise—war god kids didn't exactly do "calm and chill."
"What's taking Fleur so long?" she whined.
Loki didn't even blink. "Patience, little warrior. Royalty doesn't rush. It's a universal rule. Something about dramatic entrances."
As if on cue, the doors of Beauxbatons swung open, and out came Fleur, hair flowing like she'd just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. Right beside her was her father, Sebastian Delacour, looking all serious in his official French DMLE robes. Then there was Gabrielle, the cutest little five-year-old bundle of energy, skipping ahead like she had more caffeine in her than an entire Starbucks.
When they got close, Loki noticed Sebastian freeze. His eyes locked onto Loki like a bloodhound that just found a suspicious squirrel. "James Potter?" Sebastian blurted, his voice full of shock, disbelief, and a sprinkle of "I need a drink."
Loki smirked. He'd been waiting for this. "Technically, yes. But I prefer Loki, God of Mischief, these days. James Potter was just one of my little adventures."
Sebastian blinked like he'd been hit by a confundo spell. "So... you're telling me... you were James Potter. And you're Loki. And Harry is your—"
"Son? Correct," Loki finished, thoroughly enjoying the guy's confusion. "Oh, and to make things even more fun, Artemis is his mother. You know, Olympian goddess, protector of nature, all that."
Sebastian's mouth moved like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. It was glorious.
"You're a god?" Gabrielle asked, wide-eyed.
Loki knelt down with a grin. "I am, little one. God of mischief, in fact. But don't worry, I promise not to turn anyone into a frog today. Maybe."
Gabrielle giggled, while Fleur just rolled her eyes. "Mon dieu, Monsieur Loki," she sighed, clearly used to his son's antics. She turned to her father. "Papa, Madame Maxime said I can go. I'll be with Harry and his friends for a few days."
Sebastian nodded, though he still looked like someone had told him the world was flat. "Very well. Just... be careful. And please, no international incidents."
As Fleur hugged her father and gave Gabrielle a quick kiss on the cheek, Loki just watched, smirking. So much had changed in the last few years. He'd gone from "supposedly dead wizard" to "god of mischief," and now he was playing chauffeur for a group of pint-sized demigods. If he weren't immortal, this might actually stress him out.
After all the goodbyes, Loki stood up straight and gave a dramatic flourish. "Alright, little warriors, time to hit the road. First stop, England. Then, on to Asgard to meet up with Harry. And if you're lucky, you might even get to see my brother Thor make a fool of himself. Which, trust me, is more entertaining than you'd think."
With that, the kids all piled into the enchanted carriage, ready for their next adventure. Because with Loki in charge, it wasn't a matter of if mischief would happen—it was a matter of when.
—
As Loki—formerly known as James Potter—arrived at the Black family home, he felt like a dad on a mission, armed with snacks and a head full of divine plans. He'd just picked up Fleur from Beauxbatons, zipping across the skies with his Skywalking abilities like a pro. The seaside cabin in England looked like something out of a postcard, with waves crashing against the shore, but inside? It was pure chaos.
Sirius was pacing like a caged animal, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by the kind of anxiety usually reserved for battle. Marlene was trying her best to calm him down, while their four-year-old daughter, Lyra, zoomed around the room like a tornado of giggles and chaos. Remus stood by the door, arms crossed, giving everyone that classic "let's-get-it-together" look, which, let's face it, was about as effective as trying to herd cats.
"Okay, everyone, listen up!" Loki called out, attempting to project authority over the whirlwind of energy surrounding him. He had brought along Harry's friends for the ride: Fleur, the graceful daughter of Aphrodite; Clarisse, the fierce five-year-old daughter of Ares, who looked ready to tackle anything; Jasper, the nine-year-old son of Apollo, radiating excitement; and Charles, almost eight and the resident tinkerer and son of Hephaestus, his eyes gleaming with ideas.
"Harry is in Asgard with his mom—Artemis, who you all know as Lily," Loki explained, grinning as the kids' eyes went wide with disbelief. "We're heading up there to surprise him. Who's ready for some divine family fun?"
"Will we get to meet Thor?" Jasper's voice cracked with excitement, his eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store.
"Of course!" Loki replied, unable to hide his grin. "He's a big softy. Just remember—don't mention his hair. It's a touchy subject."
"Why not?" Clarisse tilted her head, a puzzled expression crossing her face.
"Because he thinks it's his secret weapon in battle," Loki chuckled, and the kids burst into giggles, as if he'd just shared the most hilarious secret.
Sirius finally stopped pacing, a serious expression settling on his face. "Is this really safe? I mean, Asgard is… well, it's Asgard."
Marlene sighed, shooting her husband an exasperated look. "You've fought dark wizards and survived. A little family reunion with some gods should be a walk in the park!"
"Exactly!" Loki said, throwing his hands up in a dramatic gesture. "Besides, I'll be there. What could possibly go wrong?"
The kids cheered at that, and Charles clapped his hands together, practically bouncing on his feet. "Let's go, then! I want to see Harry!"
"Right!" Loki said, his heart swelling with pride as he watched the kids rally together. Their excitement was infectious, and he couldn't help but grin. "Everyone, grab onto me. We'll do this as a team!"
With a flourish, he stretched out his arms, and the group joined hands, their tiny fingers gripping tightly. Moments later, they were soaring through the skies, a band of misfit adventurers ready to dive headfirst into a new chapter of their lives. Little did they know, Asgard held more than just the thrill of meeting gods—it was a family reunion packed with secrets, surprises, and a side of divine chaos that could only happen when Loki was involved.
—
Meanwhile, in the bustling chaos of Hermes Express—think of it as the fastest postal service in the universe, with the added bonus of Hermes running every postal service in North America (a detail best left for another time)—Hermes himself was juggling parcels, letters, and the occasional lost god who thought they could get a free ride.
As the god of messengers and mischief leaned against a stack of parcels, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was brewing—a storm of divine proportions, to be exact. The door swung open, and in strode Zeus, looking like a storm cloud after three cups of espresso. Hermes straightened up, the playful spark in his eyes dimming slightly.
"Hey, Dad! What's with the thunderous entrance?" Hermes asked, ever the fast talker, hoping to lighten the mood. But Zeus didn't respond. Instead, he thrust a scroll into Hermes' hands as if it contained the secrets of the universe—or maybe just the latest gossip about which demigod was dating who.
"I need you to deliver this to Odin in Asgard," Zeus ordered, his tone as serious as an impending apocalypse. "It's about a sit-down. Just us gods. You know, godly business."
Hermes' brow furrowed slightly as he rolled the scroll between his fingers, already sensing the implications. "A sit-down? Are we negotiating over tea, or is this going to be more... thunderous?"
Zeus narrowed his eyes like he was sizing up a storm front. "Just deliver the message. No riddles today."
"Riddles? Me? Never!" Hermes shot back, trying to maintain his usual bravado, but inside, he was already running through the possibilities. The whispers among the gods had reached his ears—the hushed conversations about Harry Potter's lineage. Not only was the kid the son of Artemis, but also the son of Loki, the God of Mischief himself. This revelation sent a shiver down Hermes' spine—like stepping barefoot onto a cold, wet floor in a thunderstorm.
As he gathered his messenger gear, Hermes couldn't help but fret over the potential fallout. Would this sit-down with Odin be a prelude to a full-blown war between Olympus and Asgard? That was the last thing he wanted. After all, when gods started hurling lightning bolts and magical spears, it was never good for business—or for the mortals caught in the crossfire.
"Hey, Hermes," Zeus called, his voice suddenly low and serious. "Make sure Odin knows this is important. There's more at stake here than just old grudges."
"Got it! Super secret mission for the messenger of the gods," Hermes declared, forcing a carefree tone even as anxiety gnawed at him like a hungry squirrel. With a flash of speed that would make any Olympian proud, he darted out of the office and into the swirling chaos of the world outside, clutching a message that could very well change everything.
As he sped through the streets, dodging stray magical mail and the occasional confused demigod, Hermes couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to deliver a message that might just rewrite the rules of the divine game. The stakes were high, and the gods were anything but predictable. What could possibly go wrong?
—
In the grand kitchens of Asgard, things were getting... interesting.
Eight-year-old Harry, who was technically Haris Lokison (though he wasn't the type to get hung up on titles), stood on a stool, carefully stirring a cauldron with intense concentration. His eyes flicked between the recipe in his head and the bubbling potion in front of him. His mother, Artemis—once known as Lily Potter in her mortal days—watched with a fond smile. "Clockwise, then two counterclockwise," she reminded him gently, her voice filled with pride. "And don't forget the shortcut—grate the bicorn horn instead of crushing it. You'll thank me later."
Next to her, Frigga, Queen of Asgard and Harry's grandmother, peered over his shoulder with genuine interest. "Midgardian potions are quite fascinating," she remarked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So many layers of magic woven together. I never would have thought to mix these ingredients."
Harry grinned. His potions were coming along well—better than he'd expected. The trickster blood in him was itching for some playful chaos, but the disciplined hunter in him knew better than to mess around when Frigga and Artemis were watching. Besides, he loved the attention. Having the gods of Asgard and Olympus as his family certainly had its perks.
Apollo, meanwhile, was lounging against the counter, looking far too relaxed for someone in a room filled with magical concoctions. He had the grin of a guy who knew he was the coolest one in the room and wasn't shy about it. "Potion-making? Easy stuff for a god of healing," he boasted, flashing that smile—yes, that smile—the one that could blind a country. "I could do this in my sleep." And then, in typical Apollo fashion, he broke into a haiku:
"Cauldron bubbles bright,
Healing in a perfect brew,
Uncle skills take flight."
Thor, sulking at the far end of the kitchen, muttered something unintelligible, which roughly translated to, "I still don't understand how you managed that Pepper-Up Potion on your first try." The god of thunder wasn't used to being second-best at anything, and Apollo's casual brilliance was seriously starting to get on his nerves. The Warriors Three chuckled, watching the brewing competition with bemusement.
But Harry's focus was broken when the door swung open, and in walked Loki—who had once been James Potter. He strode in with a signature smirk, that mischievous glint in his eye as unmistakable as ever. "Harry, I've got a surprise for you," he declared. Sirius and Marlene Black entered right behind him, both beaming like proud parents. Their daughter, four-year-old Lyra, bounced with uncontainable excitement.
Harry's grin widened. "Sirius! Marlene! Lyra!" He jumped off his stool, nearly knocking over the cauldron in his enthusiasm.
Before Harry could fully comprehend the chaos that was now descending on the kitchen, in walked Remus Lupin—followed closely by his friends from Camp Half-Blood. There was Fleur, the eleven-year-old daughter of Aphrodite, flashing a warm smile in his direction. Jasper, Apollo's son, was right behind her, a cheeky grin plastered across his face, while Charles Beckendorf, ever the tinkerer, fiddled with a piece of metal as he nodded to Harry in greeting. Clarisse, the five-year-old daughter of Ares, stormed in like she was ready to take on the world—or, at least, the kitchen. Her fierce determination was something to behold.
And, of course, Zoe, Phoebe, and Atalanta—Huntresses of Artemis and Harry's de facto big sisters—hovered nearby, keeping a protective eye on their honorary little brother. If Harry was in trouble, you'd better believe these three would step in, arrows drawn.
Apollo clapped his hands together. "Now this is a family reunion! Harry, kiddo, you've got the best uncle in the universe here. Just ask your mom." He gave Artemis a playful nudge, earning himself an amused eye-roll.
Thor, still sulking in the corner, crossed his arms. "We'll see about that," he grumbled. "The title of 'Favorite Uncle' is still up for debate."
Harry glanced around, heart swelling with pride. His family—a mix of gods, demigods, wizards, and warriors—filled the kitchen with laughter, playful banter, and enough magic to power the Bifrost for a decade. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he truly belonged. He wasn't just Haris Lokison, the kid caught between worlds; he was part of something bigger. This was his home.
As the potions continued to bubble, and Apollo—being Apollo—broke into another haiku, Harry made a mental note: he definitely needed to ask Apollo for some lightning bolt pointers. After all, it wasn't every day you got lessons from your godly uncle. And with a grin that echoed his father's mischief, Harry knew that his adventures were only just beginning.
—
Meanwhile, in the vast expanse of Asgard, Hermes zipped in like a caffeinated lightning bolt, all curly hair and winged sandals. He was greeted by Heimdall, whose gaze could pierce the fabric of the cosmos—seriously, he was like a living telescope but with way more attitude.
"Ah, Hermes," Heimdall said, arching an eyebrow as he sized up the messenger god's jittery energy. "I take it you bring news?"
"Just a little something from Zeus," Hermes replied, flashing a grin that was probably meant to look casual but instead looked like he was about to take off in a burst of confetti. He juggled scrolls and messages like a circus performer, trying to keep them from flying away. "Nothing to worry your divine head over—just a request for a chat between Odin and the big Z."
With a flourish that would make a magician jealous, Heimdall summoned an Einherjar. The warrior appeared as if summoned by the sheer force of Hermes' enthusiasm. Together, they made their way through the grand halls of the royal palace, where gods lounged about like they were at a never-ending cocktail party—sipping ambrosia, trading barbs, and occasionally practicing their best dramatic poses, because, you know, it's Asgard.
When they finally reached Odin, who was seated on his high throne looking like a very tired lion, Hermes handed over the scroll, practically bouncing on his feet. "For the All-Father!" he declared, doing a little jig that made the Einherjar raise an eyebrow.
Odin unfurled the scroll, his one eye narrowing as he scanned the vague and slightly annoying handwriting of Zeus. It was a classic move for the king of the Olympians to be both cryptic and infuriating. It didn't take an oracle to figure out why Zeus wanted a sit-down; Odin could practically hear the gears turning in Zeus' head. Harry wasn't just any kid; he was the son of Artemis and, much to Odin's internal chagrin, also the son of Loki. And, honestly, that was enough to make any god's head spin.
Thoughts whirled in Odin's mind faster than a storm on the Bifrost. How to ensure Harry's safety? That was priority number one. Frigga would throw a fit if anything happened to that little boy, and Odin had learned the hard way that a pissed-off queen was far scarier than a thousand Frost Giants. Trust him; he'd been on the receiving end of Frigga's "disappointed mother" look once too often.
And how to manage this without igniting a war between Asgard and Olympus? Sure, Odin had been a warmonger in his youth, ready to rain down fury upon anyone who dared cross him, but now? Now he was more into peace and diplomacy, which, let's be honest, was incredibly dull for a god who had once fought alongside giants.
"Tell Zeus I'll consider his proposal," Odin said finally, rolling the scroll back up with a look that could curdle milk. "And Hermes? Keep your sandals off the furniture this time."
Hermes snickered, well aware of how often he'd had to dodge the broom-wielding Einherjar after misplacing his feet. "No promises!" he called over his shoulder, his laughter echoing through the grand halls of Asgard as he zipped away, ready to spread the word about the brewing storm between the two divine families.
As he disappeared, Odin couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. Between Harry's unexpected heritage and the looming tension with Zeus, things were about to get very interesting in both realms. And interesting, as all the gods knew, often came with a side of chaos—and a dash of divine mischief that could turn even a quiet day in Asgard into an epic showdown.
—
In the Royal Gardens of Asgard, the sun poured down like liquid gold, casting a warm glow on a lively gaggle of kids who were trading stories and laughter. Eight-year-old Harry, a miniature whirlwind of mischief and divine charisma, held court at the center of his friends—his wild hair defying gravity and his grin practically glowing with trouble. He had inherited more than just the charm of his father, Loki, the Trickster God; he also had the sharp wits and strategic brilliance that would make Athena proud.
Surrounding him was Fleur, the eleven-year-old daughter of Aphrodite, regaling everyone with tales of her first few months at Beauxbatons. "You guys won't believe it! They serve chocolate lava cakes in the dining hall! And some teachers wear hats shaped like brooms! Can you imagine?" Her eyes sparkled with excitement, clearly impressed with the poshness of her new school.
"Fancy? That's nothing!" Harry shot back, puffing out his chest as if to say he was about to unleash some epic feat. "Chiron taught me how to wrestle like a demigod! I can flip anyone who challenges me!" He flexed an arm, and Charles, who was almost eight and the son of Hephaestus, nodded eagerly, his grin as wide as a hammerhead shark.
"Right? It's all about technique!" Charles chimed in, his enthusiasm bubbling over. "I made my own weapons this week! I can't believe I actually did it!"
Clarisse, the five-year-old daughter of Ares, interrupted their banter with a confident flourish of her new electric spear made from Celestial Bronze. "And my spear can shock you! Want to see?" Before anyone could respond, she aimed it at a nearby tree and zapped it, leaving a sizzling mark on the trunk that made everyone gasp in awe.
"Whoa! That is so cool!" Jasper, the nine-year-old son of Apollo, shouted, his own pride bubbling to the surface. "But check out my quiver! It's enchanted and has trick arrows for everything! There's one that turns people into goats, one that honks like a goose, and one—" He paused for dramatic effect, "that distracts people with glitter! You wouldn't believe how effective that one is."
While the kids were busy trading their stories of grandeur, the adults looked on from a distance. Loki—formerly known as James Potter—stood with his arms crossed, a mix of pride and disbelief dancing across his features. Next to him was Artemis, formerly Lily Potter and Harry's mother, radiating maternal grace with a soft smile on her lips. Frigga, the wise Queen of Asgard and Harry's doting grandmother, beamed with pride, while Apollo lounged nearby, his sandy hair catching the sun's rays as he contemplated his next poetic masterpiece.
"I swear," he said, his trademark playful grin slowly slipping into a more serious expression, "if I had a haiku for every time those kids did something amazing, I'd be a legendary poet by now." Clearing his throat, he prepared for his moment of glory. "Children of gods, with laughter and might, forging their path, a future so bright."
Just as he finished his epic ode, Thor strode into the garden, his presence commanding like a thunderstorm rolling over the hills. He looked like he had just returned from battle—or, in this case, an especially heated court session. "Everyone," he boomed, drawing the attention of the group like a lighthouse in the fog. "I bring news from the court."
Instantly, the chatter died down, and the kids looked up at him with wide, curious eyes, as if expecting a grand announcement or perhaps a surprise feast.
"I just heard from an Einherjar that Hermes delivered a scroll from Zeus for a sit-down with Odin," Thor declared, his tone serious enough to send a shiver through the crowd. "It sounds like Zeus knows about Harry."
The adults tensed at the words, their expressions darkening. They all understood the implications of this revelation. Harry wasn't just the son of Artemis; he was also the son of Loki—something that could tip the delicate balance between the realms and spark yet another divine feud.
"Great," Artemis muttered under her breath, her expression transforming from warmth to irritation in a heartbeat. "Just what we need—a godly family sit-down with my father."
Frigga sighed, shaking her head. "Odin will be furious if Zeus tries to lay claim to Harry. This could complicate everything."
"Complicate? It's an understatement," Loki chimed in, pacing like a caged animal. "We need to prepare for this. If Zeus is aware of Harry's lineage, he'll want to assert his claim. I won't let that happen."
Apollo raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk fading slightly. "So… any bets on how this meeting will go? Who's going to throw the first lightning bolt?"
Thor clenched his fists, his loyalty to his brother shining through. "We will protect Harry. No matter what."
As they exchanged glances filled with determination, the kids remained blissfully unaware of the weighty discussion surrounding them, too wrapped up in their own world of adventure and friendship. For now, the Royal Gardens buzzed with the energy of youthful laughter, while in the shadows, plans were being forged, and battles loomed on the horizon.
Harry, caught in the middle of this divine family drama, felt the familiar tug of mischief brewing inside him. After all, he was a shape-shifting strategist with powers that could turn tides and a reputation for mischief that preceded him. Little did they know, this was just another day in the life of Haris Lokison, destined to carve out his path between the worlds of gods and mortals, armed with charm, wit, and a determination that wouldn't quit. Adventure was always just around the corner, and Harry was ready to dive headfirst into the chaos.
—
In the murky depths of Tartarus, where shadows squabbled over the last crumbs of hope, Kronos was having what you might call a serious wake-up call. And by "wake-up call," I mean he was finally stirring from an eternal nap that had started way back when Zeus decided it was a brilliant idea to chop him into little pieces and scatter him across the Underworld like confetti. You'd think that would teach a guy a lesson, but apparently, nothing says "family reunion gone wrong" quite like a thousand-year-long catnap.
Now, don't get me wrong. Kronos wasn't just sitting around in the dark binge-watching terrible reality TV. No, he was brewing a storm of vengeful thoughts as he regained consciousness, his essence swirling and stretching like dough being kneaded for the world's most chaotic pizza. With every fleeting moment, he gathered his strength, and soon enough, he sent tendrils of dark energy slithering through the layers of reality, like a creepy snake hunting for its next snack. And what did he find? A kid named Haris Lokison. Not just any kid, mind you. This little guy had a cocktail of pantheonic blood—Greek and Norse—bubbling through his veins like the ultimate power smoothie. Perfect. Just what Kronos needed for his next evil scheme.
"This child," Kronos thought, rubbing his metaphorical hands together in gleeful anticipation, "is going to be my ticket to the sweetest revenge against my wayward children—Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades—who thought they could toss me into a pit and forget about me. Newsflash, guys: I'm still here and plotting!"
He couldn't help but cackle like a villain from a cheesy horror flick. Sure, he didn't have a physical form at the moment (thanks to Zeus's 'gift'), but he had something much more powerful: time. And oh boy, did he have time. He could just sit back, relax, and watch as Haris grew up, laying down the groundwork for some seriously chaotic fun. After all, nothing could be more deliciously ironic than watching Zeus's own grandson unknowingly become the pawn in his grand scheme.
Kronos envisioned Haris—sweet, innocent, and blissfully unaware—making his way through life, building friendships and learning skills that would make him a formidable opponent for the Olympians. With each passing year, he could see the threads of fate weaving together a tapestry of divine chaos. The more he watched, the more he chuckled, like a kid with a box of fireworks, just itching for the right moment to strike.
As the dark tendrils snaked their way into the mortal realm, Kronos whispered dark promises into the universe. "Oh, the Olympians will rue the day they thought they could leave me to rot," he sneered, picturing the disaster he was about to orchestrate. "They'll suffer, and it'll all be thanks to that unsuspecting boy. Revenge is going to be the sweetest, most chaotic dish served cold—just the way I like it."
But he wasn't just looking for petty revenge. No, Kronos was a master of manipulation, and he had plans to turn Haris into a weapon that would shatter the very foundations of Olympus. He could already imagine the scenes playing out in his mind: Zeus, with his lightning bolt, poised for battle against his own flesh and blood. Poseidon would be churning the seas, furious that his grandnephew was unleashing chaos upon the world. And Hades? Well, Hades would be too busy dealing with the fallout in his underworld, trying to figure out why the souls of the dead were suddenly running amok.
Kronos' laughter echoed ominously through the gloomy abyss, a haunting sound that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened souls in Tartarus. With each echo, he envisioned his plan coming together—Haris growing stronger, the blood of the Titans mixing with the whims of the gods, a perfect storm brewing just beneath the surface.
And so, with visions of divine chaos swirling in his mind, Kronos settled back into the shadows, plotting his grand return and the ultimate downfall of Olympus, one unsuspecting child at a time. He could almost taste the chaos, that sweet nectar of vengeance. After all, when it came to revenge, it was always best to keep things interesting, and he was just getting started. With a snap of his fingers, he knew the game was on, and this time, the gods would learn that you can't keep a Titan down forever.
---
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